Monday, July 31, 2017

I got the pathology results from my recent biopsy today, and, as expected, they were normal. This points to my "issues" being caused by a probable hormone imbalance which, the Good Doctor explained, indicates the need for a hormone replacement protocol, heavy on the progesterone.

Nope.

Not happening.

Just because my ovaries are so old they are literally coughing dust does not mean that I want to go messing around with the fake hormones; that shit most likely caused my mom's breast cancer and, I kind of like my breasts intact (don't tell them; just today I complained about them getting in the way of my wearing a really cute button-down shirt).

So, rather than signing up for monthly pharmacy deliveries, I will tough it out on the Peri Menopause Train, irregular, unexpected bleeding and all.

Day Two of our reunion weekend started off with the parade party that I mentioned in earlier posts, and, as I have said, it went really well. The (totally alcoholic) drinks were a hit, the weather actually cooperated (a serious deluge of rain the night before dampened the festivities under the tent at the country club and it continued to rain for most of the night), and, we had an amazing turnout, including folks from classes both ahead of and behind ours.

One of my childhood friends, and a fellow graduate of '87, is now the principal of Mayberry High (the rest of my classmates and I are still wrapping our heads around that one) and he made arrangements for the band to stop in front of Mom's house to play the school song, which, brought tears to many eyes and smiles to all faces.

He also arranged to have the school mascot pose for pictures with us, which was awesome.

After the parade, we went to a picnic at another classmates home, and, here is where the awkwardness notched up to 20 on a scale from 1-10.

While the adults were enjoying beverages and good conversation, the younger members of the party were playing basketball in an area not far from the house. My fellow bar hostess has a son who is nine and Mrs. Shane (remember her from the previous night's Most Awkward Moment?) has a son who is eleven. The boys were part of the basketball game, and, at one point, my friend's son came screaming bloody murder, clutching his side and in tears. Mrs. Shane's son shot off into the house like a guilty cat, and, when the story came out, I couldn't blame him.

During the basketball game, my friend's son passed the ball to Mrs. Shane's son, accidentally hitting him in the chest. Mrs. Shane's son picked up a plank of wood that was laying nearby and proceeded to hit my friend's son in the ribs with it three times.

My friend did her best to both comfort her son and to comfort Mrs. Shane, who was understandably upset, but, who chalked up the incident to her son's "little anger problem".

Like, what?

"Little anger problem"?

The Shanes left immediately after the incident, and, while icing down the rapidly darkening bruise on my friend's son's rib cage, we noticed smaller, darker spots on the site of the injury; come to find out, the plank of wood had a rusty nail in it, and, the kid was lucky he got hit with the side that had the head of the nail protruding from it, rather than the side from which the nails end protruded.

What a mess.

Anyhoodle, the chances of the Shanes attending the next reunion are probably pretty slim.

The rest of us had a great time, though.

Thirty years later and we all picked right up where we left off. I don't know if that is because we attended such a small school or because we basically attended that school from kindergarten through graduation, but, I feel blessed, regardless.

Sunday, July 30, 2017

The first event planned for our reunion weekend was a mixer at the local country club. I use the term "country club" quite loosely, as our country club consists of nothing remotely resembling a country club. Oh, there is a building that sits on a golf course, but, that's about the extent of it.

Anyhoodle, about thirty of our classmates met under a red and white striped circus tent near the first hole putting green for drinks, burgers, and merriment. The awkwardness started about ten minutes into my arrival when I went into the pro shop (again, a term I use loosely) to purchase drinks for myself and Queen B, who had graciously agreed to accompany me

Inside the pro shop were a classmate and her husband; I gave the classmate a hug and the conversation followed thusly:

Classmate: You'll remember my husband, Shane.

Chelle: Hi. We must have met at the ten year?

Classmate: Noooo, I was married to someone else at the ten year. Your sister was married to Shane's brother.

And folks? I actually had to read the last name on his name tag before my feeble little brain put it together; he was, indeed, the brother of the abusive asshole to whom my older sister was married briefly when she was nineteen.

Chelle: Ooohhhhh....

Awkward silence followed for three-point-five seconds before another of my classmates, who had entered the building and caught the conversation, stepped up and placed the cherry on top of the awkward sundae by saying...

Other Classmate: Huh. I wasn't going to mention it buuuut, I was the Maid of Honor in his wedding (pointing to Shane) when he married our classmate, Tracy.

Left unspoken? Tracy divorced Shane for numerous abuses, including the one time that he dragged her across a park by the hair. When she was pregnant.

Shane and his brother have a lot in common, folks.

The fact that the rest of the evening went really well was both surprising and refreshing. Mr. and Mrs. Shane left fairly early and I eventually got over the feeling of wishing for the earth to open up and swallow me, whole.

Tune in tomorrow for the second most awkward moment of the reunion, also featuring Mr. and Mrs. Shane.

Saturday, July 29, 2017

So, apparently, two of my classmates had no idea that a mimosa contained alcohol, and, since my particular mimosa recipe contains twice as much poison than the average recipe, I managed to get two unsuspecting fools totally snockered at this morning's parade party.

I don't know whether to be amused or appalled.

I think I'll go with amused.

In addition to the sneaky alcohol-full mimosas, my girlfriend and I served both a spicy and somewhat less spicy Bloody Mary, along with lemonade, which was, to my credit, not spiked with the demon alcohol. The bar was a huge hit and something that I would totally do again in five or ten years when we have our next reunion.

I will eventually get to the full story of the reunion (including a few really awkward moments), but, for now, I will just dump a bunch of photos from the parade party into this post so that you can see how it all came together, along with a few shots of me in the awesome apron that another classmate made for me and my girlfriend, because, you can't serve sneaky, alcohol laden drinks without an apron.

This morning, I packed the Tahoe with all of the ingredients and equipment necessary to host a Bloody Mary/Mimosa bar for sixty or so people, and, Queen B and I set off for Mayberry.

We made a stop along the way, specifically to view the field of sunflowers that a neighbor has been growing this summer; the flowers have finally opened up and the view is stunning.

Once we got to Mayberry, we hustled over to the rodeo grounds to catch my niece in the slack, which is the preliminary competition of a rodeo. She and her dad were team roping and she was also competing for a spot in the barrel races.

The evening was spent at the country club with my fellow members of the Class of 1987. Queen B accompanied me to that as well, but, she dipped out to attend the dance long before the juiciest of the high school stories were told (good thing).

Tomorrow, I am hosting the previously mentioned Bloody Mary/Mimosa bar during the annual Stampede parade, and, if I am correct (and, I am almost always correct), there will be even more classmates and a few more juicy stories.

Thursday, July 27, 2017

I leave for Mayberry tomorrow morning and I still need to pack, so, no time for a post about how nothing I own looks good on me or about how much I hate that, although, both of those things are absolutely true.

What don't I hate? Dad's lilies are blooming and they are beautiful. The plants have spread even more this year, and are filling in the flowerbed, nicely. The air is thick with their spicy signature aroma and the bees are losing their minds over the amount of pollen on their stamens (thank you, 8th grade earth science class for that bit of knowledge).

Tuesday, July 25, 2017

I went to the dentist today to have a filling replaced; it was about as pleasant as having the Nether Bits spelunked by the Good Doctor, but, with the added bonus of drooling and not being able to feel my face for several hours afterward.

I would challenge the universe to get even more creative with my body cavities, but, at this point, I am terrified that it would take me up on it, and, I am in no mood for a colonoscopy.

Monday, July 24, 2017

I just got home from my endometrial biopsy. It went as well as could be expected. Actually, it went better than expected because I didn't bleed profusely this time. Also, I felt neither the need to pass out nor the urge to throw up!

Well, not during the procedure, anyway; the urge to barf did occur as the Good Doctor casually waved the resulting tissue sample in my face while explaining to me the time frame of what will happen next, but, I swallowed it back down (the urge, not actual vomit).

Although, if I had given into the urge, you couldn't have blamed me in the least.

Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to have a little lie-down (lay-down? ) while holding my feet up in the air to take as much pressure off my uterus as possible lest it decide to enact revenge upon me in the form of a third period this month.

Sunday, July 23, 2017

The Man-Cub's team, finally got their uniforms today; they are officially The Roughriders.

And, what was the roughest thing they did today? They lost by two in an extra inning following nine innings tied 5-5. Seriously. Five runs for each team in the first inning of the game followed by nothing, nada, zilch for the next eight innings.

It was a looooong game. And, hot! Holy hell, it was hot! But, I only have a few more opportunities to watch the Cub play ball, so, I'm not complaining. Plus, I had my trusty lawn chair (complete with side tray table and a handy loop for holding up my giant umbrella), a cooler full of sparkling water (as hoped, the bubbling H2O has kept me off the Diet Pepsi), and a bag full of cherries (I prefer to spit pits instead of sunflower seed shells, I'm weird like that), so, I was as comfortable as I was going to get.

Next weekend, I will be in Mayberry, celebrating Stampede weekend and my 30th high school reunion, so, I won't get to watch the Cub play, but, you can bet your last dollar I'll still be rooting for him.